Code Kickass
by JasonEpsilon725
Summary: The stage is set for Lelouch, the greatest strategist and most attractive man to come out of Britannica in over ten thousand years, to rise up, overthrow Britannica, and take his place as the greatest badass who ever lived. But what of this strange green-haired woman calling herself either C.C. or The Doctor depending on how she feels? And what does it mean to be truly brilliant?


The year was 1960 on the Impala's Britannican Calender, and awful music was everywhere. Oh, and the Impala's Britannican Empire, they were everywhere, too. Now, if I'm write about this sort of thing, and I usually am, you're reading this in my voice now. Good.

Hello. I'm C.C., which is pronounced See Two... because... reasons. But my true name is The Doctor, and I'm here to tell you about Britannica.

Britannica rolled across the map of the whole world - This world map of the whole world, to be precise -like a tidal wave of angry idiots in giant robots. That's right, giant robots. They built those, because most people think they look a lot cooler than giant tanks with incredibly large main guns that combine artillery and main battle tank, or giant tanks coated in guns and turrets.

They stripped the land of its riches, its pride, even its name... and its... land. They stripped the land of its land. They stripped those massive tracts of land bare, I dare say! And they changed its name to something completely different, too, just to add insult to injury and Get The Disrespect.

Aria 11, symbolic of the song that ends the earth, the song that spells doom for all, the song that is the Britannican's national anthem. The one song nobody can actually sing. Seriously, have you tried singing that song? If you don't crack up laughing at the impossibly archaic accent and end up getting shot for it, you aren't putting enough of your heart and soul into the song, and you will be sentenced to death via getting force-fed peppers, your screams of agony destined to be played on You've Been Slain, the funniest clip show on Britannican airwaves. Rumours said they got the idea of that show from another dimension, but this was heresy and anyone who dared say that aloud would be shot. Blam. Regardless, the natives in these countries were called Notes, representative of their meaningless and monotonous existences in the factories or boiler rooms or plantations, and how they could only ever mean anything when a composer got those Notes in order. By the way, though some may say 11 is the best number, I personally think it is 10.

The war between Britannica and what was once Japan was fought for one reason and one reason only: Britannica was bored. There hadn't been a new first person shooter game to come out in weeks, WEEKS! And as every good Britannican man and woman is raised to believe, only 3D First-Person Shooters are worth buying. Strategy games and RPGs and puzzle games? What are those? All the professional reviewers, magazines, blogs and websites only give First Person Shooters a high score, so that MUST mean that only those games are good! And so, from the year 1920 onwards, humanity and their gaming reached a steady decline until we finally reached this point, where all games are boring little shooters where you kill ugly Zombies, uglier aliens, or even uglier rebel Notes. All weapons are Disc-Locked Content that cost full price to unlock, as are all levels and most songs on the OST.

Of course, this reason was not divulged to the public, or put into their history books. No, the people of Britannica were told that the war was fought for one reason and one reason alone: Sakuradite. Despite how it was named after one of the most useless and hated characters in Eleven fiction for some cheap laughs, Sakuradite is actually an incredibly powerful and radioactive material. However, it is so radioactive that it doesn't have a half-life, it has a quarter-life. Fortunately, it is only damaging to those stupid enough to inhale the fumes it gives off when used. Those fumes have a powerful effect, granting a mind-numbing effect nothing else can match, while also damaging the inhaler's brain with radiation poisoning and boosting its intelligence a hundred fold at the same time. Nasty stuff. Makes you wonder things like "What is life?" and "What if everything we see is a hallucination caused by oxygen inhalation, and that's why when you run out of oxygen, you black out?". It's enough to drive one insane. Or more insane, in the case of the Britannicans.

And so, our story begins... In the land of Aria Eleven, where a young man is about to meet his destiny.

A spectacularly fat nobleman was playing a game of chess against a thinner and much more scared-looking opponent. The thin man was terrified, visibly sweating, as if a loaded gun was held to his head, and he looked as if he was about to pass out even though this was a freaking game of chess. There was no loaded gun, he just took chess really, really seriously, because to him, chess was serious business. No moves had yet been made, but that did not matter, because his opponent was a Nobleman which meant he was naturally better, and so he was going to lose and then die. Losing this children's board game would cause him to lose the will to live! ...And also probably get shot for "Wasting a Nobleman's time", which was illegal and punishable by execution.

The door suddenly opened, revealing two new people. In the center, there was someone that was, without a doubt, the most attractive, fit, and cool young man anyone present had ever seen.

He had long, thin strands of raven-black hair in a center parting, bangs hiding his eyebrows from view and pointing down at his magnificently deep and bright purple eyes that shone like gems, the finest gems to ever exist. No, they shone more, brighter, better! The rest of his face was slender and cool, and his neck was covered up by a magnificent white cravat upon which a broach rested, a purple gem framed by a sculpture of two miniature black iron swords crossed at the base, a steel chainsaw with black iron blades resting atop the two sword tips and forming the triangle shape. Below that cravat was his chest, muscular and lithe, a swimmer's build coated in strong toned muscle, with absolutely epic pecs and an eight-pack so sturdy he could bend over backwards while resting his back on a bed of sharp nails, put a watermelon on his muscles, and let all the girls in the club take turns smashing the watermelon with a pneumatic Sakuradite-powered sledgehammer, putting a new one onto his chest so the next girl could have a go. He wore no shirt, but even he had to wear pants, and he'd do something about that when he became king. He chose to wear incredibly tight black leather pants with a pattern of tall and thin purple spikes at the bottoms that reached up to the knees, and these pants were tailor-made. This meant they were designed to outline his muscles - and more importantly, his muscular butt that could literally crack six eggs at once when he felt like showing off - exactly. His feet wore black wing-tip loafers and purple socks, though nobody really noticed those since they were focusing more on his chest or face.

No less than three paces behind him even in the elevator, trying to get a good look at what was going on without getting into his only friend's Awesomeness Bubble, his loser friend Rivaltz (AN; THAT IS SO HOW HIS NAME IS SPELLED EVEN THOUGH IT'S NOT) Cumbersome. Also known as Rivaltz Miriam Cumbersome. He had dark blue hair styled up in a way that brought to mind a dopey and derpy cat, and his idiotic behaviour and stupid face didn't exactly challenge that assumption. People often wondered why those two were friends, but the simple fact of the matter is that Lelouch simply didn't have a lot of friends, even though he was hot, and nice, and everything a girl could want and then some. The problem was that due to Britannican law, only nobles were allowed to speak to each other or even look each other in the eye except when the higher gave the lower explicit written permission. Written with lame commoner ink, not the cool ink the cool and uber-wasteful nobles used, which was made from crushed gems and crushed flowers and the highest-quality ink possible, typically written upon fancy goatskin parchment. Unfortunately, due to inbreeding and a crappy education system, the upper crust was filled almost completely with idiots. Therefore, Lelouch could only truly become friends with people at his political level, which meant... The Student Council of Ashhole Academy. His only friends on the planet were the idiot behind him, the incredibly beautiful but ditzy and forgetful and easily-manipulated Sherlock Finale, who did not live up to her first name at all... The psychotic manic-obsessive science-prodigy Niner Eightball, who rarely said more than three words to anyone unless she was gushing lovingly in more ways than one about her crush, the beautiful and disturbingly naive Princess Eucalyptus who wasn't even aware of her existence even though she wrote slashfictions of them getting together that were so disgusting, even Samax, Destiel, Twidashie, Thorki, Itager, Erevi, and TARDImpala shippers would be disgusted by what she wrote... the incredibly, unbelievably beautiful Molestia Ashhole who was so perverted, beautiful, playful and ecchii that if she ever met her namesake, Princess Molestia would recoil in horror. And then smile, totally into it... and finally, there was... uh... well... actually, now that he thought about it, there were only really a couple of people on the Student Council. Huh. No wonder he was stuck with Rivaltz most of the time.

The two mismatched - in more ways than one - 'Friends' stepped into the room, Lelouch strutting confidently while his idiotic friend danced about, Lelouch's leather pants squeaking incredibly loudly as he walked up to the panicking and sweaty opponent of the fat nobleman, who was all too happy to have someone take his place on what he thought was the chopping block. Lelouch sat down very slowly, his leather pants making an even louder squeaking sound, and then he smirked confidently, a nearby fishtank filled with golfish suddenly boiling over as the glass melted from overexposure to his hotness.

"So, you're the substitute?" The fat nobleman asked, leaning forwards and squinting. And in that moment, the fat man looked so much like a Snorlax, a thrown Pokéball would have caught him. The chair he sat on was crushed beneath his weight, and so four former-Olympic-weightlifter servants ran over to pick him up while two very hot women, one Britannican in a French Maid outfit and the other an Eleven dressed like a pink-haired catgirl in a furry pink swimsuit with a fake tail - moved another incredibly opulent and fancy chair into place beneath him.

"That's right." Lelouch said, and looked down at his side of the chessboard, the black side, because his nickname was The Iron Prince because that was really really badass, and so he must always use the black side because iron is black. He thoughtfully stroked his incredibly handsome chin, thinking for a moment, and then he picked up his King, had it hop over his front line of pawns, and stand there dramatically in front of all his soldiers.

"I say!" Yelled the fat Britannican. "What the bloody buggah do yew think you're doing?"

"Well... How will the pawns follow, if the king does not lead?" Lelouch asked, his smooth, silky, confident and strong voice like a flowing river of the sweetest possible honey with sugar and powdered diamonds and opals mixed in. Rivaltz started to drool at its delicious sound, but he quickly wiped it away with the back of his wrist.

"No, I mean, that piece can't ahctually move there." The fat nobleman said. "That is an illegal move."

"Oh." Lelouch said, and paused. He then picked up his king piece, and set it down again one space to the right. "How about here?"

"No."

He picked it up, and put it one space forwards. "Here?"

"No."

Lelouch then moved his King to the far-right corner of the board, two spaces ahead of his rightmost pawn. "Here?" He asked.

"Who the hell taught you to play chess?!" The fat man demanded.

Lelouch thought back to his childhood...

* * *

"Yes," Schnitzel El Britannican said amusedly as he sat across from Lelouch, a chessboard made from black and white diamonds between them covered in meticulously hamdcrafted by a slave born in captivity in Area Four whose entire existence had been nothing but carving from the day he was born until recently, trapped in a dark room away from the rest of humanity with nothing to do besides practice carving. The chesspieces, on the other hand, had been carved from the white ivory of nearly-extinct elephants born and bred in captivity and farmed for their ivory, and also from naturally-black ivory that grew on genetically-altered black-tusked elephants. "Yes, Lelouch, that is the way to play chess. You can totally leapfrog your pawns and put your king first."

"Yay!" The incredibly adorable kid Lelouch said happily.

"And now it's my turn..." Schnitzel said thoughtfully. "It's a Tuesday, so my white pawns can move up to twelve spaces. I invoke the Special Rule, Suicide Bomber."

"Oh no!" Lelouch gasped as Schnitzel picked up the pawn farthest to the right and had it charge forwards, killing Lelouch's pawn and the pawn next to it while making a loud BOOM sound with his mouth, taking them all off the board.

"It's all lowly pawns are good for." Schnitzel said dismissively.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-" Lelouch began to scream.

"Here he goes..." Schnitzel sighed, reaching into his pocket and getting out a large and blocky NoPlayer, a music player with 128 Terrabites of storage space painted a bright metallic yellow to match his hair, and he had filled most of those terrabites with thousands of songs, mainly thirty-minute opera songs and audiobooks, but it was also constantly synched with The Cloud, which only Britannicans could use though it drained resources from all other lands and made it even easier Britannican government to spy on everyone. The Cloud gave him a theoretically limitless amount of storage space... yet like the wasteful jerk he was, he only ever listened to audiobooks and twelve or so songs. The music device never needed to be recharged, due to having a small and incredibly radioactive Sakuradite core. He then got out a set of inner-ear headphones with gold trim that delivered sound in incredible, almost impossible sound quality that could even fool animals with hearing superior to humans, plugged them into his NoPod and put the speakers in his ears, and searched for a certain song, his favourite song of all time, ever.

It was one of those Stupid Statement Dance Mixes, but this one was not stupid. No, this one was a metal/pseudo-orchestral remix of quotes from the legendary Freidrich Niezetshce. On sale now, at the Adfly link that will appear in this story at a later date once this song is made in this world by the writer. There will be a very big and epic announcement on that date.

The song was elegant, melodic, powerful, and dark, everything the former Knight Of Four would have wanted this song to be. Schnitzel listened to this song twelve more times before Lelouch finally stopped screaming. He looked down at his little brother, who waved his little hands and tried to get his attention.

"I move my... uh... this guy!" He said, picking up the horse-shaped piece.

"That's the horse. If he ends his turn while not looked after by a person-"

"Huh?"

"Not next to a person piece, he runs off. The black side are mere rebels facing the Holistic Encyclopedia of Brittanica - also known in some places as the Impala's Britannican Empire due to how our first Emperor was said to have built his own Impala from scratch - they don't have the discipline or skill of my side."

"Oh." Lelouch said. He thought for a moment, and then realized that if he were to move his Horse, he'd lose it. Meaning he had to move someone else... like his Peon! Which was spelled Pawn for some reason. "I move my pawn forwards, in Attack Mode, and end my turn."

"My turn. I activate my artillery." Schnitzel said, placing a fingertip atop his Bishop and making a "Wheeeeeewwwwww" noise as he brought that fingertip up in a wide arc and hit it upon the side of Lelouch's board, making a loud boom sound and taking away the Queen and everything else besides Lelouch's king. from the board. "Moving your king first was a clever move... but it won't save you know."

"Bugger!" Lelouch yelled, and then gasped because he'd said a bad word. He glanced around fearfully, wondering if he was going to be blammed for that, which was the slang word for getting executed by a bullet to the head. And then he remembered that he was a Prince, and so he was above the law that bound commoners to their inevitable deaths. "When do I get to use advanced moves and special rules and artillery?"

"When you become a true master." Schnitzel said, not even having to fake the smug smirk that was his resting face. "And you only know you have become a true master when you can beat another one."

"Wow!" Lelouch gasped.

"Now... it is time for the final turn... Now, no matter what happens, the chess match isn't over until it's over, okay? Don't ever give up, or surrender. Don't even give an inch. There is an inch within all of us... though mine is really more like nine inches most nights... and we must never lose that inch, understand? This world is cruel, but it is also beautiful, and it doesn't matter how hard you can hit, what matters is you find the enemy, and hit him so hard you make his ancestors wish they had all kept their legs shut. You take their homes, their liberty, AND you take their freedom. You threaten their people with slavery and death, and for anyone, anyone at all, to stand against you is blasphemy and madness. You are Lelouch Vi Benedict Ultima Ferral Pitt Maurice Cumberpatch Feature-Length Magnum Expansion Britannica, and you must remember... remember who you are. A scattered dream that's like a far-off memory... A far-off memory that's like a scatteted dream... You take all the pieces you want and line them all up however you bloody well please. You are a Prince, and that means some day, maybe not today, maybe not the next, or the next, or the next, or the next, or the next, or even the next. But the day after the day after the day after the day after the day after some day, right next to that one, that will be your day! And when that day comes, you must fight! With all your might! You go out that night, to kick out every light! Drink anything you want, break everything in sight! You go until the world stops turning, when you burn the world to the ground that night. Do you understand, Lelly? Do you understand, Lelouch? Our father has a lot of time on his hands, and I do mean a lot, and so you have over nine thousand brothers and sisters fighting for the throne. But you are a tactical genius, Lelouch Vi Benedict Ultima Ferral Pitt Maurice Cumberpatch Feature-Length Magnum Expansion Britannica, and so you must join the military some day, and fight. Become its commander, and do everything in your power to win the game. Until that day comes, I will arrange for you to be given badass military training to bring you to the very peak of human fitness and badassness, and women training, too. A hero must be good with the ladies, after all. After all, you're no angry miserable emo center-parting-with-front-bangs cravat-wearing black-or-grey-haired serious-eyed rival to the hero, loved more than the hero by everyone... you're the hero! You're THE hero! Some day, you will unlock your ability to use Special Rules..."

Lelouch gasped in awe of his incredible brother's amazing mind and charisma and kindness, his big gemlike eyes sparkling with wonder.

"But that day is not today. Special Rule: Tactical Genius." Schnitzel said, and a pawn of his was suddenly removed from view by sleight of hand, and Schnitzel placed it just behind Lelouch's king, headbutt-stabbing the King in the back with a high "Kshiiing!" sound and taking the king as Lelouch watched in horror. "I win... little brother."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

* * *

INCREDIBLY OBNOXIOUS AND LOUDLY ANNOUNCED P.O.V (AN/ THAT MEANS POINT OF VIEW LOL) SWITCH: LELOUCH VI BENEDICT ULTIMA FERRAL PITT MAURICE CUMBERPATCH FEATURE-LENGTH MAGNUM EXPANSION BRITTANICA

"Hey, Lelouch! Earth to Lelouch!" The fat nobleman called out. "It's your move!"

Rivaltz glared furiously at the nobleman, as if he'd just commited some kind of unforgivable sin instead of merely making a shoutout. After all, if it happened only once or twice in the story, it was a shoutout. But MORE than two?! That was a SIN! Ding! His internal utterly-meaningless sin counter dinged, because he called that a sin. He didn't really understand the concept of sin or how it was all just a big joke, but not understanding something in the slightest had never stopped him before.

Lelouch, on the other hand, wasn't currently paying attention, and he chuckled ruefully. "Schnitzel..." He said, staring off into the distance with unfocused eyes. "I never was able to beat you, my brother." He said, his right eye drifting off towards the wall and ceiling as his left eye stayed put.

"Do... do you need a minute?" The fat nobleman wondered, and Lelouch was snapped back into the present moment.

"Of course not. I thought of over nine thousand ways to beat you in under three seconds." Lelouch bragged, folding his strong arms. Rivaltz stared, mouth agape at his brilliant physique and even more brilliant mind, blood in his veins pounding so hard that many of his blood vessels burst, crimson sanguine life-giving fluid leaking out of his nose.

"You've been here for fourty minutes." The fat nobleman said, disturbed.

"Yes, exactly. Just imagine how many ways I will have thought of in that amount of time!" Lelouch gloated, pointing a hand to the sky, finger extended.

"Lelouch... allow me to repeat to you what a handsome, fit, and incredibly charismatic young man with a foxlike grin once said to me. He said his name was Jack, but my people couldn't find him in any databases, so it must have been an alias. Ah-heh-hem..." He began, and then spoke in a lower and much smoother tone with an accent Lelouch hadn't heard before, "'Chess is a short fixed-moves game with a finite number of possible moves you can make at any given time. The fact that it's possible for a computer to play it better than the greatest human chessmaster of all time ever could shows that it lays itself down in the gutter with bared flanks at a level of idiotic simplicity lower than even the common fighting game or first-person shooter. The only reason it exists and is still played today is because media loves to play it up as the ultimate thing smart characters do, alongside memorizing Pi to unnecessary amounts of decimal places, using big words even when short ones will do and the idiots they're surrounded by aren't likely to understand any of them, and watching many television screens at once and coming to idiotic Deus Ex Machina conclusions based on embarassingly- no, hilariously fallacious Bat Deduction logic. This game holds about as much challenge for me as opening a can or pressing a doorbell. There's only one thing to do... So do it. Checkmate in ten.'" The fat nobleman said, and resumed his usual Britannican voice. "He then proceeded to make seemingly random moves with no real plan in mind until he suddenly sprung checkmate upon me with a Bishop I hadn't noticed him put into place. He had bet a positively absurd amount of money, and he won, which instantly made him rich... and only once I had given him the money in a briefcase did he and his gun-wielding sister leave, merrily declaring that this place 'Kicks Acre's ass', whatever that means. Regardless, only once he had left did I think over the match enough times to realize... he had moved that bishop into position when I was not looking. He cheated. The ultimate way to spit in the face of a poor game and those who play it."

"Ok." Lelouch said, pretending that he understood all of that. "So... you're saying you want me to cheat?"

"No, I was saying that you're lying, and it's painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain." The fat nobleman stated flatly. "There aren't enough possible moves in the game for what you're saying to be true."

"Oh. I suppose, since Rivaltz and I have full brains, we didn't notice." Lelouch said smugly.

"And what a deliciously full, juicy and plump brain it is! And covered in such wonderfully shiny hair..." Rivaltz whispered hungrily like Golumn holding His Precious, which was, spoiler alert, actually just one ring. Which died in the end, like Golum/Smeargle.

Lelouch facepalmed. "Rivaltz, like we talked about..." He mumbled.

"Sorry, Sir." Rivaltz said sadly.

Lelouch breathed in, and then said what he'd said just moments ago, in exactly the same way. "Oh. I suppose, since Rivaltz and I have full brains, we didn't notice." Lelouch said smugly.

"OOOH! OH! OH! OH! OH!" Rivaltz screamed, dancing around the room, utterly overwhelmed by Lelouch Vi Benedict Ultima Ferral Pitt Maurice Cumberpatch Feature-Length Magnum Expansion Britannica's absolutely amazing rapier wit, so overwhelmed that he couldn't think or speak any more, and only repetitively make monosyllabic noises could express the incredible euphoria achieved in that moment. "OH! OH! OH! OHH! OH! OH! OHHH!"

Meanwhile, just outside the room they were in, the fat nobleman's cute secretary in a French Maid's outfit heard this screaming and wondered what they were doing in there. She then made her best guess, and her nose begun to bleed as a result of the brain aneurysm she just got. She died, but not before posting about this to the social network known as Twaddle - the only social network to force you to simplify your vocabulary and use fewer words so the idiotic users of such a mindless site can understand you, yet it still managed to be a better social network than Fakebook, the site filled with preachy political pages and corrupt turbonazi staff members and friends you don't particularly like that slowly but surely steals away your data and passwords and life... and worst of all, I.N.V.U., the idiotic scam of a website that charges the children and edgy grimderp emo teenagers and old ecchii people with nothing better to do with their time to use a glorified supposedly-free chat program no better than Club Penguin or AOL, while spewing spyware deep into the innards of their Mommy and Daddy's computers and charging them through the nose with microtransactions as they frantically tried to make their ugly Grimderp Red-And-Black Demon Vampire Twilight Barbie-looking avatars pretty or unique in a mad and frantic dash to be the speshullest and darkest and most Mary/Gary sueishly powerful werewolf or vampire or demon or demonwerepire in their little closed-circle ignorance-is-bliss circlejerk bubble, to try and surround themselves with shallow and empty friends while telling themselves their one-line posts have actual meaning or emotional depth to them even though if they died the next morning it would only cause their "Online family" and "Soulmates" to spend the next few online minutes moping about it before getting over it and resuming the shallow and childish game of make-believe that engulfed the whole website - the hashtag of fail topping off her post seconds before the welcoming and sultry embrace of death came to claim her. Even though it wasn't the first thing to claim her in such a way that week, and if her boss got his hands on her body, it wouldn't be the last.

After half an hour, Rivaltz finally stopped screaming.

"You're not very bright, are you?" The fat noble wondered.

"You're not very light, are you?" Lelouch countered expertly, and Rivaltz screamed in awe, jaw wide open, screaming and hooting in amazement so loudly that most of the women and about seven of the men immediately got the wrong idea about what was going on upstairs and they passed out, one particular blonde woman screaming in amazement before falling out of a window and falling seventeen storeys to her death, landing face-up on the ground and nosebleeding so hard that twin geysers of blood erupted from her nose, forming into a colossal sixty-foot fountain sculpture of a mermaid. Why a mermaid? She'd seen something like that on TV once. A man in another building did the same, his blood spurting out to create a water sculpture of a vastly-superior large-chested centaur woman.

"Just... get on with the game. You're going to lose anyway." The fat nobleman said overconfidently, sneering so hard he pulled a face muscle. "No matter what you do, there is no way you could ever take my King off this board."

Lelouch smirked. "WANNA BET?!" He roared, slowly standing up, his leather pants squeaking loudly.

He shoved his hands down the front of his pants, and whipped out a large and alarmingly long and thick purple electric dart gun with gold trim and a long scope at the top for precise aiming. He fired it at the fat Nobleman's left shoulder, his body twitching and convulsing as hundreds of thousands of volts tore their way through his body. The fat nobleman slumped forwards, his head hitting his chessboard, his white King impaling his right eye, and then he bounced back and fell off his chair, landing on the floor with the chesspiece still stuck in his eye.

"...You win!" Rivaltz called out excitedly, forcing a grin so badly-made it would make a smiling pony cry, causing her pony friends to kick his butt.

The fat nobleman's servants and slaves cheered loudly, one woman removing her French Maid outfit and revealing her thin white bra and pink-and-blue polka-dot underwear beneath it, throwing the maid outfit to the ground and stamping on it furiously because she was Britannican and the Britannicans hated the French, her chest bouncing a lot due to the enthusiastic stamping.

"Looks like this was..." Lelouch said, trailing off ominously and reaching into his pockets and pulling out a pair of aviator sunglasses. He then put on another pair of sunglasses in front of those, and another one in front of those, and then he got out a detachable and flippable set of extra lenses that would normally go on regular glasses, and clipped them onto his third pair of sunglasses horizontally.

His hands fell down by his sides... and then he slowly raised his right arm up, dramatically and in slow motion, afterimages blurring behind it as a result of overexposure to pure awesomeness, and with the grim and sudden finality of a bullet fired at a downed man's head from a gun, or a wilting rose petal, or a balloon that was suddenly popped, or a framed photo trampled beneath a jackboot, he raised a finger to his sunglasses, and flipped them down, the sound echoing dramatically around the otherwise silent room.

"A work of dart." Lelouch said, and he got up turned to leave, pants squeaking loudly until he stopped and dramatically looked away from the body.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" Rivaltz screamed gleefully at volume so high that hundreds of people and notes outside looked up in confusion. Rivaltz continued to scream, amazed that he was still in the presence of somebody so absolutely and utterly incredible. And in amazement that he was still alive, despite spending so much time around him. But mostly in awe at Lelouch's incredible greatness.


End file.
